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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703412">Erosion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thighz/pseuds/TheRedPalaaladin'>TheRedPalaaladin (Thighz)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Kidnapping, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Post-War, Separation Anxiety, Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:01:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,294</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26703412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thighz/pseuds/TheRedPalaaladin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith can’t remember the last time he saw anything green.</p><p>Trees. Grass. The ocean.</p><p>It’s been nearly a year since the Galra reduced their planet to dust; transforming it into a hot, barren wasteland. </p><p>(AKA the post-apocalyptic Voltron AU JDS never wrote)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Erosion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was my piece for the Across Realities Zine. I enjoyed the heck out of writing this and there is so much more to go.</p><p>(As the story updates, so will the tags. It's hard to add some on mobile.)</p><p> </p><p>As some of you know, my city was in the direct line of fire from hurricane luara, so updates will be very slow and unexpected during recovery.</p><p> </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Act I:</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Chapter One</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith can’t remember the last time he saw anything green.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trees. Grass. The ocean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been nearly a year since the Galra reduced their planet to dust; transforming it into a hot, barren wasteland. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory of what Earth used to look like edges its way to the surface as he watches an evening sandstorm whip against the fractured glass of their motel hideaway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can barely see the setting sun through the swirling winds. Yet, it still casts the lobby in a haunting, unearthly glow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The color looks like a warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red—red like blood—red like the cuts and gashes that sand will rip across your flesh if you’re not careful. If you don’t take shelter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has the scars to prove it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any sign of it letting up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith turns his head away from the storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro steps around a mountain of caved in ceiling tiles and crosses to where Keith is perched on the sill of the lobby window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still in his riding gear—black pants, ripped leather jacket over a stained Led Zeppelin t-shirt, grey bandana wrapped around his throat. His hair is getting longer and the dark strands look unreal in the red glow of the sandstorm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Keith replies. “We’re trapped for the night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s shoulders lose a little of their rigidness. “The hotel is clear.” He winces. “Mostly. Looks like the Galra got to them before they could escape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s stomach churns and he curls his gloved hand into a fist. “Recent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shakes his head. “Weeks at most. I closed the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith drops his head back against the window frame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t uncommon for them to find bodies. There are still thousands of humans surviving in the barren tundra of planet Earth. Of course, it’s been over two months since they’ve even </span>
  <em>
    <span>spotted</span>
  </em>
  <span> a living human. It feels as though their species gets snuffed out quicker with every passing day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Galra are everywhere they turn now. Covered in near bulletproof armor and wielding massive machines that have long since sucked their planet dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some days it’s scarily easy to imagine them being the only two people left on the surface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith had always wondered what it would be like to travel the world with Shiro at his side. Just them and the open road—no one to tell them what to do or who to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t exactly how he pictured it happening, but if he was going to be stuck with anyone else at the end of the world—he’s glad it’s Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most of the doors are still intact and lock,” Shiro says. “Might be able to finally get some decent sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea is tempting, but, “You go first.” Keith returns his gaze to the storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand falls on his shoulder and squeezes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s heart clenches as his eyes drift up to meet Shiro’s. “I want to hold you tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And how is Keith supposed to say no to that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rises off the sill in one smooth motion, Shiro’s hand sliding down his arm until their fingers lock together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro leads him down a short hallway, past a door that reeks of week old death, and into a room at the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s mostly intact like Shiro said—though a bit damaged from years of disuse and hundreds of sandstorms breezing through the broken building. The curtains on the windows are half-destroyed and the murky glass is only slightly cracked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro has already put their bags within reach of the full-sized bed. The sheets looks less dusty than the rest of the room and he suspects Shiro did some digging elsewhere in the motel to get even remotely clean-ish linen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shuts the door behind them, flipping both the deadbolt and the metal hook at the top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pulls a pistol from the depths of one of their rucksacks, checks the chamber and safety, then stuffs it under a tower of moth-eaten pillows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t shed any layers of clothing or take off their boots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gets into the bed first, expression expectant and soft in the waning reddish glow of sun and storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith climbs in after him, braid falling over his shoulder as he crawls across the bed and into the welcome breadth of Shiro’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His whole body sinks against Shiro’s—every fibre of his being craving his warmth and touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t get to sleep together often. They’re always on the run—always hiding and dodging and keeping watch while the other one rests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smells like sweat and desert sand and weeks without a decent bath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s used to it—they both are. Instead of smelling rank, it just smells like comfort. Like safety. It smells like they’re surviving the best way they know how.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes he could rest his hand over Shiro’s heart and feel the steady thump of it under his palm. Wishes he could tangle his fingers in the chain around Shiro’s neck and play with the golden band hanging from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are too many layers and they can’t afford to get caught unaware and undressed in the middle of a warzone. So instead, he tucks his fingers under the bandana at Shiro’s neck and finds the fluttering pulse at his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hums softly, arms curling tighter around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith counts the beats of Shiro’s heart. Listens to the rise and fall of his breathing. Allows it to lull him just enough to close his eyes and shut down every sense but his hearing. He knows Shiro is doing the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t matter that they are both tired down to their very bones. They’ve spent so much time on the run. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith can’t even remember the last time he could sleep without fear of being attacked or suffocating from the deteriorating oxygen levels. It’s always been run—survive—adapt since the initial wave of the attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were rumors, of course, of the alien princess who’d come to liberate their planet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But those died out like the rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few months, they both faced the realization that rescue was never going to come. There was no longer an organized military or any structure of power left on the planet to control the chaos and unite the survivors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was just them versus the Galra.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s hand scoops Keith’s braid out of the way and cups the back of his neck. “Stop thinking and rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sighs, “It’s not that easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Shiro murmurs, thumb stroking along the base of his hairline, “But we’re almost at our limit and if we don’t recharge—” His fingers shake as he trails off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t need him to finish that sentence. One mistake could mean death. One of them or both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There have already been one too many near misses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t lose you,” Shiro whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith drops his head back until he can see all of Shiro’s face. It’s lined with worry and dirt and sand—but it’s still the most radiant thing Keith has ever seen. Losing the ability to see this every day would cut him open in the worst way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s fingers trail up and away from Shiro’s pulse, following his jawline before drifting up to rest against his lips. “You won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes flutter closed, mouth parting against his fingertips and whispering a trembling, “I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles and hopes that it comes across as comforting. “I love you, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The storm screeches outside the window. It batters the motel walls, creaking and groaning with every swirl of wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s almost a familiar sound—one from his childhood. Before his mom left and his dad died. He spent most of his younger years out in the desert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sandstorms were common.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s unnatural.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doubts he’ll get any sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They head west.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their bike roars across a sand-covered highway, kicking up dust in its wake. Barren landscapes and decimated buildings blur past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s hands keep a steady grip on the leather of Shiro’s jacket, goggle-covered eyes watching for any sign of suspicious activity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pack strapped to his back is heavy with new supplies scavenged from the bowels of their last hit. Bottles filled with fresh water, old MRE’s packaged to last through nuclear fallout. A brand new capacitor for the solar panel on the bike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s proud of what they were able to get—but it comes at a cost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With each strike at a Galra base, the targets on their backs grow larger. Their reputation spreads farther. But each base hit gets them through the weeks between scavenging the bare minimum left behind by humanity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stealing from the Galra had been Keith’s idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they’d reached a breaking point, voices rising and emotions pulled thin, Keith had been the one to slice through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was risky, but they’ve come out triumphant every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re not even sure what they’re searching for at this point. Survivors? Permanent shelter? Help?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All impossible, fanciful dreams they trade in the dark of the night. It’s been months of endless travel. They’ve had to savor clean water for days—food for weeks. They’ve slept both under the endless blanket of stars and inside brutal hellholes filled with decay and vermin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t know where they’re heading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hell, neither does Shiro, and he’s the one manning the rumpled, ripped map of the United States. He’s the one pointing to various locations and guiding them across the wasteland. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are no more signs or accurate maps, not really. Everything has been destroyed or faded by the whipping winds and nasty storms caused by the machines deep within the planet’s core.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shivers at the idea of visiting one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> bases ever again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They barely escaped with their lives the last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith wishes he could say they are trying to save the planet. That they are trying to find some way to turn off the machines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s already too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Planet Earth is gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, it’s just a dead thing floating in space—what’s left of its people scattered like ash across the surface, just trying to find a safe place to sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah - Taka -</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand curls over his mouth, effectively cutting off the rest of Keith’s breathy pleas. There’s a wet mouth lingering behind his ear and a hand stroking lazily around his cock. A chuckle spreads heated breath down his neck, thumb gliding over the tip and smearing fluid around the head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh.” Shiro murmurs into his ear, “They’ll hear you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’ being the small group of survivors holed up in a tiny police station somewhere. Who welcomed their exhausted, nearly dehydrated forms into their inner circle. Offering them a warm meal and the private water system attached to the station's locker room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s skin is a little chilled from the recent cold shower, but his groin throbs with arousal and Shiro is a solid line of warmth at his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel Shiro’s cock against the dip of his spine - hot and hard and begging for attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith twists to face Shiro and curls his arms around his neck, dragging him down into a sloppy, slick kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro moans, hands curling under Keith’s thighs and lifting him up against the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their cocks slide together and both of them let out identical, trembling groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span> since they were able to touch this way. Keith missed the easy intimacy, the rush of endorphins as the orgasm rockets through him, the dopamine high that follows. He missed Shiro’s lazy kisses and the drag of his fingers across Keith’s belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is never enough time to enjoy any form of intimacy when you spend 90% of your time just trying to stay alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rings on their necklaces rest between flushed chests. Keith’s tarnished silver tangling with Shiro’s gold—a testament of their love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A promise made standing in the blood of their first Galara kill, fingers shaking and a strangled laugh that sounds like ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>We may be saving each other a lot from now on</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ and a steadfast return of ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll do it as many times as it takes</span>
  </em>
  <span>’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They carve a promise on the inside of their rings with the tip of Keith’s old, dull blade.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Together or not at all</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith swears something ancient opened up inside of his chest at the sound of those words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro kisses him back to the present, both lax from the sex and feeling light for the first time in a while. Keith can feel that same chasm cracking open again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should give him peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, it feels like a warning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t trust easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only tangible things he trusts are Shiro and his instincts. Neither one has ever steered him wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They trust one another without question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, it’s no surprise that Shiro follows his lead when Keith doesn’t eat the meal provided by their helpful hideaway hosts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only watered-down soup and stale crackers, but Keith doesn’t know these people from a hole in the ground and he’s not about to willingly eat anything they offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t seem too offended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we leave tonight?” Shiro’s voice is low and cautious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith hums, eyeing the group as they tag-team their dishes, “You ready to get dirty already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro whimpers. “No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll leave in the morning.” Keith shoulders him playfully. “We can take shifts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really think they’ll try something?” Shiro bites his lip. “There are kids here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Survival makes humans desperate,” Keith murmurs. “Kids only make the survival instincts sharper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods once, then reaches down to pull their creased map from the depths of a worn backpack. “You get some rest. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith wants to protest at first. Shiro’s shoulders are too tense and there are dark, worrying circles under his eyes. But he knows how stubborn Shiro is and instead bunches one of their jackets into a pillow and curls up behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s back is warm, his breathing steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of paper rustling and soft voices in the background lull Keith into slumber.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith still dreams of the terrified, shrill screams from the first wave of the invasion. He dreams of dark purple laser fire, blood splattering the walls of their aerospace department. He remembers the panic, the helplessness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers Shiro leaping over the dead bodies of their classmates and the overwhelming relief on his face when he spotted Keith. The tight grip around his wrist that never let up until they had escaped and successfully found a place to hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s okay, we’re going to be okay.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith hadn’t been sure if Shiro was trying to make himself or Keith feel better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith always figured exposure or dehydration would take them down before the Galra did. They were survivors. They were a team. They had a code and rules and a promise to never give up—no matter the cost or the consequences.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you’ve dodged death as long as they have, you start to feel invincible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one is invincible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A scream jerks Keith out of the dream world. An explosion follows, rocking the hideaway around them. Dirt and debris rain down on them in a cloud of brown fog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith bats at his face, trying not to inhale the downpour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro?” he gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay down,” Shiro orders, hand clamping down on the back of Keith’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith squints through the dust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lights—purple and familiar. A snarled language they haven’t quite mastered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the survivors kneels in the dirt, hands hovering over a lifeless body. “You said you’d let us go if we told you where they were!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Galra soldier doesn’t answer. They shoot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s fingers tighten, a reflex or a reaction, Keith isn’t sure. In the next second, he’s pulling Keith to his feet. They don’t grab their packs. Keith can’t think and he doesn’t remember where they stashed their guns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spread out,” the Galra snarls. “Find the wanted. Bring them to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sneak around a corner, down dark hallways and through sandy fog. Screams and gunfire—an echo of the past—rise and fall around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith thinks they’re going to make it. Each turn leans to another turn, the heavy footsteps sound further and further away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s panting hard beside him, legs eating up the ground. If they could just make it to their bike, if they could just dodge the laser fire long enough to be miles away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They turn another corner and a doorway hovers like a beacon at the end of the hall. An old, cracked exit sign sits above the frame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith thinks they’re going to make it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door slams open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s arm snaps out to stop Keith mid-run.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galra step through the door, red light pooling around them, guns drawn. Keith hears their pursuers closing in behind them, shouting for them to remain still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro—” Keith turns his face up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro does his best to block Keith from both sets of guns. His hands curve around Keith’s face, blocking his peripheral vision even as the shouting increases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes are grey and lined from lack of sleep. His thumb rubs over the rise of Keith’s cheekbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to be okay,” he murmurs. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith swallows down the fear curling up his esophagus. “I love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A large fist snatches the back of Keith’s shirt and yanks him backwards. Keith snarls when they do the same to Shiro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They shove them down the hallway and out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light is blinding after being in the dark for so long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith tries to look at Shiro, but an armed Galra stands between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They are led to a towering Galra with a metal arm nearly as wide as his body. One eye stares down at them, flicking between Keith and over to where Shiro must be standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips twist up into a sneer. “Kill the runt, bring the big one with us.” He turns to walk away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t touch him.” Shiro snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Galra turns back, browline arching as he stares down at Shiro. “Kill the runt </span>
  <em>
    <span>in front</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith watches the Galra between them step back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes are wide, his shoulders jerking within the grasp of his captor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t look away, even as boots crunch across the sand in his direction. Even as the whirl of a rifle hums at his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He mouths the words, lips shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s face twists into something ruined and panicked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he headbuts the Galra behind him and gets free just long enough to snatch a rifle and kill the one with a gun to Keith’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chaos ensues, followed by shouting and multiple Galra trying to restrain Shiro as he takes out three more, including the one holding Keith hostage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Run!” Shiro collides with Keith’s side, gun up with one hand and the other shoving between Keith’s shoulder blades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not so fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s fingers graze Keith’s neck as he’s pulled back by the largest Galra. He struggles, but the metal hand takes the gun and crushes it inside the palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s arm is twisted behind his back with a sick crack and a scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kill the runt, now!” The large Galra orders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith freezes as the two remaining Galra stumble to their feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He meets Shiro’s wounded gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go, Keith!” Shiro snarls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shakes his head, but his feet move backwards as the Galra close in, “I can’t leave you—I won’t!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Go!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Shiro shouts, tone pitched and desperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks defeated, arm held back, covered in dirt and sand and sweat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith always thought Shiro was larger than life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s an ant compared to the giant snarling above him, barking orders as he tries to keep Shiro down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Shiro croaks. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Run</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Keith—unable to deny Shiro anything—turns and flees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop him</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t look back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even as a patrolling Galra tries to snatch him, ripping his shirt as he rolls and dodges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even as purple fire hits the ground around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even as tears blur his vision and the gunfire stops and the strong, whining groan of a ship tells him they’ve gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He runs and he aches and he doesn’t look back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Keith tries to catch some sleep inside a gas station twenty eight miles from Platt City. The sun is scorching, he’s thirsty and blistered from travel. He feels like death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He half hopes it will come for him as he slumps against a glass door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has no idea where he’s heading or how he’s even going to make it without water or food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes burn as he closes them, hand lifting to grasp weakly at his jacket. He pats at his collarbone for his necklace, only to find nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No ring. No chain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn it.” He covers his eyes with his arm. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cries himself to sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it dead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If not now, he’s well on his way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, he reeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lance, shut up and get me a canister of water.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t smell like a daisy either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.” The rustling of fabric, the metallic twist of a canteen bottle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cool, soft hand touches Keith’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to open his eyes, but they’re crusted shut. He gasps, hand snapping around the wrist of the hand at his face. “Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid not, my friend.” The voice is female, her touch gentle. “My name is Allura. Drink.” Cold metal touches his lips and the sweet, welcome taste of water floods the inside of his dry mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s ashamed of the whimper that chokes up his throat, but the group of voices say nothing as he drinks it all down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is your name?” Allura asks. Her fingers are wet as they wipe at his eyes, clearing the sleep and dust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith,” he replies with a croak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith blinks hard a few times, attempting to clear his vision enough to see the people who found him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A beautiful woman kneels beside him, white hair short to her pointed ears, smile soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith inhales. “You’re—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Altean.” Allura’s smile brightens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“—the princess.” Keith finishes lamely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also correct,” the voice who said Keith smelled pipes in. He’s tall and lanky and carrying a Galra pulse rifle across his back with a strap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allura lifts a hand. “This is Lance,”—she waves to a big man wearing a bandana and a heavy pack—“Hunk,”—then to a shorter human with brown hair high in a ponytail and holding on to the canteen Keith devoured— “and Pidge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you were captured.” Keith hates how sticky his mouth is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allura hums. “I escaped. Alone, unfortunately. My advisor is still on board Zarkon’s ship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s brow wrinkles. “Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh man.” Pidge rocks on their heels. “What exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just that the Galra invaded, killed everything, something about a captured alien princess.” Keith winces and tries to sit up a little straighter. “We were just trying to survive.” He peers up at the four of them. “How did you find me? We went months without seeing people and—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allura tilts her head. “I was led to you. All of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hunk and I were on our own,” Pidge pipes up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looking for Pidge’s brother.” Hunk nudges their shoulder with a weak smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was on the front lines,” Lance says. “Passed out in a foxhole and woke up to this beautiful lady—” he wiggles his eyebrows at Allura, “—nursing me back to health.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There were to be two of you,” Allura whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith bites his lip, blinking furiously as the tears try to surface again. “We were—” He inhales and puts his face against his knee. “He was taken. I escaped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allura hums. “This may complicate things a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little?” Lance gapes. “The Lion needs </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> pilots!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith furrows his brow. “Lion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This may take a while,” Pidge murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hunk smiles. “Maybe we should tell him on the way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An excellent idea!” Allura beams, popping up to her full height and putting both of her hands out to help Keith up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith eyes them all warily. He’s bone-tired still and nothing they’ve said has made any sort of sense. He’s half-convinced he’s dead or dreaming or both. He wishes he was waking up in Shiro’s arms. In that little, dusty motel room a few weeks back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith puts his hands in Allura’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s strong, maybe stronger than Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s given another canteen of water and a brown packet of sun dried fruits as they lead him to a battered jeep parked out front of the station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Hunk drives and Keith eats, Pidge frets over a map beside him while Lance watches out the windows like a hawk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allura sits beside him and tells him of her planet and its destruction. The enslavement of races across the known universe. All at the hands of the tyrant whose ship nearly blocks out the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tells him of her own ship locked away with four lions inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Magic robots.” Keith squints at her. “You’re telling me there are four magic robot lions on your ship on another ship in the sky and another lion on our planet and we’re—” he waves around the group, “—all supposed to pilot them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To save the universe, yes.” Allura nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith glances between them all. “This is crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought so too, but it makes sense.” Pidge shakes their map. “Allura sensed us, the Paladins, on this planet. We were all drawn to the same place—Zarkon’s ship—because our Lions are inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares down at the map. “And me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and—” Allura pauses, “—Shiro. Were heading somewhere, yes?” She tugs the map from Pidge and set it on his lap. “You are still traveling towards it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith studies it. “We didn’t know where we were going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you did,” Allura encourages. “The Black Lion is out here somewhere, and Shiro?” Her finger glides across the paper to the city— “Is here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s throat constricts, his fingers crinkle the map. “He’s alive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe Zarkon intends to use him as a co-pilot.” Allura scowls. “And use the Lions to bring even more destruction to the universe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we have to save him,” Keith hisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Slow your roll.” Lance looks over his shoulder at them. “We can’t break into the gladiator arena without a game plan or weapons!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can if we use the Lion,” Keith snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Black Lion </span>
  <em>
    <span>must </span>
  </em>
  <span>be piloted by two.” Allura insists gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith meets Hunk’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Take me to her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The closer they get to the Lion, the more Keith can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know why he never recognized it before. It’s as tangible a bond as the one he has with Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe that is why you could not tell,” Allura suggests as they trek through winding tunnels and wet caverns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t need a map.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel her calling. It resonates within his very bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when he finds her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s the biggest machine he’s ever seen. Her shield ripples purple and only opens enough for Keith to step through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opens for him like a sunrise. Her welcome is a balm across his exhausted soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment he enters the cockpit, she practically sings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are two seats before him, both equal in every way. He takes the one on the left instinctively and she purrs along his subconscious as he situates himself into the pilot’s seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never flown before,” Keith murmurs. “Always wanted to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubs a thumb over one of the controls. The barrier around her drops, and within a few minutes, he can hear the rest of the group being let on board.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes a shaky breath, hands moving where she bids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go save Shiro,” Keith says, “and then our planet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Black’s answering roar brings a smile to Keith’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shiro wakes in a wet, humid cell for a fourth time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His foggy dream of Keith fades away as the stench of unwashed humans and the aching burn in his shoulder drag him back into the real world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t remember how long he’s been here, but he does know he’s won his fourth fight and there’s a sharp pain in his right side to prove it. He presses at it with new metal fingers, wincing hard as pain sparks up his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lets out a harsh breath, sucks another one in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to find some calm against the storm of helplessness inside of him. He tries to forget the blurred, hazy mess of a memory that involved a bone past repair and the demand to have him fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To prove himself, the madman said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spoke of mechanical lions and meddling alien princesses, but Shiro could hardly think through the pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only wanted one thing: Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted out. He wanted to make sure Keith got away. That he was safe and alive and not dead somewhere in the wasteland with a pulse through his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro drops his head back against the brick of his prison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His flesh fingers find the ring hanging at his neck. He can feel the words carved inside the band, whispers them out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tries to remember what Keith’s voice sounded like. It couldn’t have been that long since they were separated, could it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you the one called Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro turns a glare on the blacked out figure in front of his cell door. “Go away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft, considering sound. “I cannot do that. I require your help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not going to happen,” Shiro snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will this change your mind?” A furred hand slips through the bars of his cage, lavender in color, much lighter than the Galra Shiro fights in the pit. But it’s not the hand or the color of the fur that has Shiro’s entire body going cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the silver ring hanging from a broken chain.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Keith’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> silver ring, rocking back and forth, glinting against the muted light of the cell block.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro moves without thinking, chest tight. “No—</span>
  <em>
    <span>No—</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need your help, Shiro,” the stranger insists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro flinces before he reaches out to touch the ring. “You think I’ll willingly help anyone who put their hands on him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need you to trust me, Shiro. In order to do that, I give this as a peace offering and a promise.” The hand moves further inside Shiro’s cell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro touches the ring with trembling fingers. “A promise of what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That your mate is alive and he</span>
  <em>
    <span> will</span>
  </em>
  <span> come for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lifts his gaze to the Galra’s shadowed face. “And why should I trust you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because his mother sent me to this planet to find him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes the necklace from the clawed hand and slips the ring free from its ruined chain. He unhooks his own and drops it beside its partner. “And say I believe you?” Which he doesn’t, not really, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>entirely. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But if there is even a sliver of truth to the Galra’s words and Keith is out there, looking for him—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro knows without a doubt Keith will find him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They made a promise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need your word, Shiro. That you will trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stares down at their rings in his palm. Tarnished. Battered. But together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Let’s start again.” The Galra turns to his side, features sharp and eyes a vibrant shade of white. “My name is Ulaz and I need your help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lifts the chain to his neck, snapping it back into place as the rings collide with a sharp, metallic sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what you need me to do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>End</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so much for your support. It means the world to me even though Voltron is long since over.</p><p> </p><p>Come check me out on twitter! @blackpalaladin!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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